


The Butler and the Revolutionary/The Captain and the Creep

by junko



Series: Written in the Scars (of Our Hearts) [29]
Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M, Original Character(s), POV Original Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 14:25:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junko/pseuds/junko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seichi Abarai, Renji's brother, is delivered into the hands of the Kuchiki steward, Eishiro.  Meanwhile, Byakuya attempts to have a conversation with Captain Kurotsuchi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Butler and the Revolutionary/The Captain and the Creep

**Author's Note:**

> This is short, much shorter than normal. I actually have more written, but I wasn't happy with it. Rather than mess around with it forever, I thought I'd at least post the stuff I did like. I hope you like it too.

Eishirō had only been back to work for an hour when the manor’s lord summoned him to the Sixth Division and gave him a nearly impossible task.

“Seichi Abarai will be joining our retainers,” Byakuya-sama said, indicating the young man with dirty blond dreadlocks in handcuffs standing between two shinigami. “Find him work to do.”

Eishirō was having trouble focusing on anything beyond the tattoos--dark black swaths right in the middle of the prisoner’s forehead that spelled out, ‘Stray Dog.’ Eishirō blinked, “I’m sorry… did you say ‘Abarai,’ my lord?”

“This is Renji’s brother,” Byakuya-sama said, “Seichi.”

Oh. 

Apparently facial tattoos were an Abarai family thing.

Eishirō had about a million other questions, but Byakuya was already turning away. “I trust you can handle this. I have an appointment at the Twelfth,” Byakuya said. “Seichi is in your care now. Be sure to alert the bodyguards to be on the lookout for kidnappers.”

Wait--kidnappers?

To Eishirō’s horror, the shinigami followed their captain out of the small office. Just before leaving the room, one of them tossed Eishirō the key to the handcuffs and gave him a little salute and a wry smile, as though to say, ‘good luck!’

Eishirō fumbled the key but managed not to drop it. He stared at the now empty doorway. What on earth was he supposed to do with this… chained and bedraggled ruffian? 

No, Eishirō reminded himself, this was the lieutenant’s brother. 

Seichi. Seichi Abarai.

And Abarai was a name of merit in this household.

“Right. Well, then,” Eishirō said, approaching Seichi with the key up, as though to be clear with his intent. “Let’s get you out of those.”

Seichi didn’t seem to have much to say about it all. He just watched Eishirō approach warily. With the tattoos and those eyes, intense and watchful like a feral animal’s, Eishirō could see a sort of family resemblance. Otherwise, Seichi was not nearly as impressive as his brother—significantly smaller and hair of such a dull, uninteresting color. 

Before unlocking the cuffs, Eishirō asked, “Please tell me you’re not planning to do anything stupid if I release you.”

A wry smile twitched on Seichi’s lips. “I guess it depends what you consider stupid.”

Eishirō considered explaining that, while he was no shinigami, he’d had some hakuda training. Granted, much of it was stretching exercises, but he did keep up with it every day. Still, even though Seichi didn’t look tough, Eishirō had no doubt that the Inuzuri streets had taught the boy a thing or two.

“Knocking me down and running away would be stupid,” Eishirō said, matter-of-factly. “There is a division full of armed shinigami in that direction,” Eishirō pointed to the door through which Byakuya had left. Then, he indicated the exit to the rear, “And, an entire barracks full of armed Kuchiki bodyguards in that one.”

They happened to be in the main office of one of the few buildings that existed both in the estate and at the Division. It housed the personal Kuchiki bodyguards on one side of the wall, and on the other was the main station for the border patrol of the Division. 

It was set up this way, because, on rare occasions, soldiers from the Sixth acted as caravan guards for the household. Similarly, the Kuchiki bodyguards would patrol the estates’ walls, including those that intersected with the Division’s. All their joint efforts were coordinated by the Twelfth Seat, here, in this office.

Seichi’s eyes seemed to glance several times between the two doors, and then finally he sighed. His shoulders dropped in defeat. “I wasn’t planning nothing like that.”

Grammar gave away true intent, Eishirō thought, but he nodded, anyway. “Good.”

Seichi lifted his wrists.

Putting the key into the lock on the manacles, Eishirō asked, “You wouldn’t happen to have any useful skills, would you?”

“Skills?” Surprisingly, Seichi’s voice was light and almost-boyish. His accent was his brother’s, however. “What’ca mean: ‘skills’?”

“I mean is there any job you’re particularly good at?”

Seichi gave a little hard, cold laugh, “I’m ace at boosting stuff. I can pick pockets like a pro--at least I used to be able to. I’m kind of out of practice, honesty. A bit rusty.” He lifted one bony shoulder in a shrug. “Other than that, during the time I’ve been locked up, I’ve been perfecting the art of the nap. I’m an A-number one sleeper.”

Fabulous.

Eishirō worked the key until the wooden manacles clattered to the floor. “I see. Well, we’re never short the need for simple, manual labor. I’m sure there’s something that needs doing.”

“Yeah, that’s great and everything,” Seichi said, rubbing his wrists. “Except I didn’t exactly sign up for grunt work. I didn’t sign-up for work at all.”

“Yet it seems to me you did,” Eishiro said with a glance at the manacles on the floor. “It’s either work for us or go back to wherever you came from. I doubt your brother would be happy to hear that you squandered this generous opportunity.”

Seichi glanced around the office. There wasn’t much to look at. A Western-style desk and chair, a ratty corkboard filled with duty rosters, and three file cabinets. The only decoration was a calligraphy watercolor that simply stated, “Duty.”

The Twelfth Seat was apparently rather Spartan.

“I still can’t fucking believe Renji went off and became a shinigami,” Seichi said with a note of disgust. “A shinigami!”

Eishirō indicated Seichi should follow him through the back exit, the door that led to the bodyguard’s barracks. “Your brother is extremely well-respected in the Gotei, Abarai-san. You should be proud of all he’s done.”

“Yeah? What’s he done, besides being a good little doggie for the military overlords, huh?”

Oh, dear.

The door opened up to a noisy co-ed barracks. Men and women in various states of undress lounged around, chatting or playing various games. Eishirō averted his eyes out of respect. He felt badly that he had to cut through their private space, but the only other way back to the estate would be the long way through the division, out the main gate, and all the way down the road to the servant’s entrance at the far side of the manor. Despite Seichi’s current resignation to his fate, Eishirō didn’t want to tempt him with an open, busy Seireitei street.

They picked their way through the off-duty bodyguards with apologies. Once they were through and into the quieter main hallway, Eishirō said, “Regardless of how you feel about the Gotei, Lieutenant Abarai is an exemplary solider.” Well, for the most part. There was all that trouble over Lady Rukia, but, well, that had turned out in his favor when a bigger traitor had been revealed. “But, more importantly, I find him to be a kind-hearted and decent man.”

Eishirō would have added ‘loyal to his friends and family,’ but he didn’t know Renji’s history with Seichi. Perhaps the lieutenant had been forced to abandon his brother or there was some other cause for resentment?

Seichi just snorted. “Well, he’s got you all snookered. The Renji I knew was a stray dog to his bones—a conniving thief and a mean little motherfucker, who’d tear your throat out if you looked at him funny.”

Eishirō couldn’t stop a small gasp. He’d never much considered who Renji might have been in Inuzuri and such harsh words surprised him.

“It’s not who he was, but who he became that matters,” Eishirō reminded himself. 

“Sure, pal. Just keep telling yourself that,” Seichi said.

Eishirō frowned but decided not to attempt to convince him further. They clearly both knew very different men. Eishirō paused to slip on his shoes before venturing into the muddy garden path. He realized Seichi had no socks or shoes. “I can outfit you,” Eishirō said, with a meaningful glance at Seichi’s simple yukata, “But you must consent to wear the Kuchiki crest.”

“And if I won’t?”

Eishirō shrugged slightly as he headed through the garden toward the estate. “Then you’ll be cold and your feet will be muddy.”

There was any number of responses Eishirō expected, ranging from rude abusive sneers to grudging consent. But, he didn’t expect the little-boy-eyes-widening-in-sheer-astonishment. “Shoes? You’d give me shoes?”

“Of course. And socks as well,” Eishirō said, feeling a little thrown by the glittering amazement in Seichi’s eyes.

“Okay,” he said suddenly pulling himself together. “I don’t fucking care if they’re rotten with some rich bastard’s mark. I’ll take ‘em. I ain’t never had shoes my whole life.”

#

One of the many things that irritated Byakuya about Captain Mayuri Kurotsuchi was that he had no proper office. When a person requested a meeting, they were often forced, as Byakuya was now, to trail along as Mayuri fiddled with some experiment or other.

Byakuya would never admit it, but the entirety of the Twelfth Division made him uneasy. From the moment he walked through the gate, with its alien, self-sprouting eye stalks that swiveled unnaturally to watch his movements, Byakuya’s hand rested firmly on Senbonzakura’s grip. The long trek underground made him likewise claustrophobic and anxious to finish his business as quickly as possible.

Byakuya stood in the open doorway to the laboratory, watching as Mayuri adjusted the flames on the Bunsen burner underneath some frothy, bubbling concoction in a glass container. The liquid splurted through any manner of other sprawling lab equipment, making vaguely sexual squelching sounds as it moved along tubes. The smell that permeated the room was acrid, like scorching skin or burnt hair.

It was a far too… human a smell and it turned Byakuya’s stomach.

Mayuri turned around and clasped his hands greedily, the one long pinkie fingernail sticking out like a tiny spear. “Yes,” he said. Mayuri’s eyes were bulging and yellow compared to the stark white of his painted face. His headdress made him look like a demented clouwn, “I think you should allow me to conduct the purification rite on Lieutenant Abarai here in my labs. We can set up a containment area. With bankai, the separation is sure to be spectacular.”

And deadly.

This was a mistake. Why did Byakuya think he could get any kind of reasoned response from this madman?

“You misunderstand,” Byakuya said. “I wish to mitigate the effects of the rite. I would like Renji to survive it.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Mayuri pouted. Clearly disappointed, he turned back to his equipment, clearly finished with this discussion before it even began. 

Very well. Byakuya would simply have to hope that Renji had better luck with Urahara. Byakuya nodded to Lieutenant Nemu, who stood ready to lead him back to the gate. 

Just as they were turning to go, Mayuri glanced over his shoulder, “You should at least let me measure the damage your Rukongai lover has done to you, Captain Kuchiki.”

Nemu gave Byakuya a little embarrassed glance, as though to let him know that she, too, had figured out why the rite was needed. 

There was point in denying it. However, the idea of submitting to this horrible little man in any way shape or form made Byakuya’s skin crawl. “That won’t be necessar—“

Byakuya hadn’t even finished his sentence before Mayuri was waving some kind of wand along the contours of Byakuya’s body, while watching the display on the tablet he held in his other hand.

The wand spent an inordinate amount of time around Byakuya’s nether regions. When it hovered over Senbonzakura, Byakuya was ready to smack the thing aside. Just seconds before Byakuya broke, Mayuri clucked his tongue. “This is no recent affair, is it, dear Captain? My, my… look at the numbers, Nemu,” Mayuri said, holding up the display to his lieutenant-daughter. 

Byakuya could see it as well, but the scrolling symbols meant nothing to him. Nemu, however, gave Byakuya another sad glance. 

Mayuri peered up into Byakuya’s face. He was close enough that Byakuya could see the way the make-up covered the pores on his nose. “Are you feeling the effects yet?”

“No,” Byakuya said. Though, to be strictly honest, he had no idea what the symptoms of such a thing might be.

“When was the last time you and Senbonzakura went bankai?”

“Some time ago,” Byakuya admitted. It had been, of course, in the fight against Renji, and again against Ichigo Kurosaki.

Mayuri pulled away to punch some numbers into his tablet. “Did you win?”

“No,” Byakuya was forced to reply. “As is well known, Kurosaki shattered Senbonzakura.”

“Awkward.” Mayuri smirked, and then turned back to his work. With a wave of his clawed fingered hand, he said, “You should neuter your lover as soon as possible, Captain. Or you might want to get used to the sting of defeat and hope your next enemy is as soft-hearted as the last and lets you walk away.”


End file.
